


A Single Omega of Good Fortune

by lachatblanche, TurtleTotem



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Regency, Emma AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:39:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/pseuds/lachatblanche, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem
Summary: Charles Xavier is a wealthy and idealistic young omega who enjoys nothing better than using his self-proclaimed skills at matchmaking to help his dearest friends find happiness. The latest subject of his attention is the orphaned Miss Darkholme, whom Charles is determined to see happily married to a gentleman of means, much to the exasperation and scepticism of his long time friend, Mr. Lehnsherr.A series of scenes based on Jane Austen'sEmma.





	1. Chapter 1

Charles was sitting by the window looking terribly content with the world when Erik arrived at Graymalkin House that evening.

‘You look pleased with yourself,’ Erik observed as he shed his coat and took a seat by Charles’s perch. ‘Is there any particular reason for it, or is this just your usual, everyday sort of smugness?’

Charles turned his gaze away from the window and raised a haughty eyebrow at his companion. ‘I will not be taunted by you, Erik,’ he said, unable to keep the smile off his face. ‘Pray be as stern and disagreeable as you please, but you’ll get no rise out of me today.’

‘A particular reason, then,’ Erik murmured, tilting his head and studying Charles further. The alpha’s placid expression suddenly disappeared, replaced by a furrow in his forehead. ‘Charles,’ he said slowly, a frown beginning to form on his face. ‘Please tell me that your complacence has nothing to do with the fact that I saw poor Miss Darkholme being escorted home by Mr. Azazel as I drew near?’

Charles pursed his lips, torn between instinctual defensiveness and the desire to crow his triumph. ‘I’ll have you know that that is exactly what I am so pleased about,’ he said, tossing his head in a way he knew irritated Erik. ‘Mr. Azazel is a gentleman, an alpha, and a respected soldier with an income of a few hundred pounds. He will be a splendid match for dear Raven.’

‘Yes, he will,’ Erik agreed dryly. ‘But Miss Darkholme will not be a splendid match for _him_.’

Charles’s spine stiffened. ‘Why do you say so?’ he demanded, irked on behalf of his friend. ‘Is Raven not comely enough? Is she not accomplished? Why, her voice is sweeter than that of all of the omegas in ----shire, myself included, and she has far more spirit in her than the best of them. Mr. Azazel will be lucky to win her hand!’

‘I doubt he will feel the same way,’ Erik said grimly, shaking his head. His tone gentled as he saw Charles’s outraged expression. ‘You think as you do because you are fond of her, Charles, and because you are _you_ and so you see the best in everyone. But tell me – who is Miss Darkholme? Who is her father?’

‘Why, a gentleman surely,’ Charles exclaimed. ‘Anyone can see it upon regarding her countenance and her manner.’

Erik shook his head again. ‘You are speaking from feeling, Charles,’ he said bluntly. ‘Not from fact. She has no parents, no connections, and few friends. She _certainly_ has no fortune to speak of, and I am afraid that no amount of skill at the pianoforte or prettiness of face can overcome that, _especially_ not for Mr. Azazel.’

‘You are mistaken,’ Charles said stiffly, ignoring the steady rise of heat in his cheeks. ‘You were not here this morning when we all lunched together. You did not see the way they conversed, nor how attentive Mr. Azazel was to Raven’s needs.’

‘Mr. Azazel was attentive solely because you were here,’ Erik said with feeling, his jaw clenched.

‘What do you mean by that?’ Charles said at once, his eyes narrowed.

Erik sighed and shook his head. ‘Nothing,’ he said, collecting himself once more. ‘I meant nothing by it, of course. I only mean to say, Charles – do not press this issue. If an understanding occurs between them, then let it be between _them_. Do not interfere there, my friend. An interference can only be harmful in such occasions.’

‘You forget, sir,’ Charles said, his cheeks burning. ‘That I am no novice at this endeavour – as my dear friend Moira can well attest.’

‘Miss MacTaggert’s case was entirely different,’ Erik said, shaking his head. ‘And an engagement between her and Dr. Banner was only a matter of time. Your interference there only hastened the inevitable.’

‘I will thank you not to call my endeavours “interference”,’ Charles said coldly.

‘I call them what they are,’ Erik said plainly. ‘And I do so only for your own good. You ought to stop while you are ahead, Charles. I fear that more interference - while undoubtedly made with the best of intentions - will only hurt those that you care for in the long run - and yourself besides.

‘You have a very low opinion of my judgement and my ability, it seems,’ Charles said bitterly. ‘No, do not fear,’ he said as Erik made to object. ‘You have made it very clear what you think of my efforts – and of me!’

Erik looked at him gravely. ‘Charles,’ he said quietly. ‘I should hope that I have always been clear about what I think of you.’

‘Oh, you have,’ Charles said sharply. When Erik turned away, however, his expression softened. ‘Come now,’ he said kindly, reaching out and patting Erik’s hand with sudden affection. ‘Let us not quarrel today. I am in no mood for it. Let us speak no more of this matter, and then we shall be friends again, the two of us.’

Erik reached out and briefly laid his hand over Charles’s. ‘I am always your friend, Charles,’ he said solemnly, meeting his eyes. He then calmly drew back and removed his hand.

Charles glanced down at the spot where Erik’s hand had brushed his, before looking up with a smile. ‘Come then,’ he said warmly, rising from his chair. ‘Let us withdraw to the chessboard. If you win, then I promise to cheerfully listen to you abusing my character for an entire hour without speaking a word of complaint.’

Erik’s smile was dry. ‘I doubt you will last even a fraction as long,’ he said wryly, rising to his feet. ‘But I accept nonetheless. Come then. Let us play.’

And the two of them withdrew to the study.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles has invested a great deal of time in (successfully) getting Raven excited for the attentions of the respectable Mr. Azazel, a much better match for her than bumpkin country doctor Henry McCoy... only to find that he might have miscalculated somewhat.

Charles wasn’t sure how he’d ended up alone in a carriage with Mr. Azazel; it was quite improper for him to ride unsupervised in the company of an unattached alpha. He could only blame the chaotic shuffling about as they all hurried to leave the party before the snow trapped them there. Charles longed for solitude, but that being impossible, he would have chosen to ride in a more crowded carriage rather than find himself here. He could not be entirely comfortable in Mr. Azazel’s company after the man’s bizarre and uncharacteristic behavior tonight. How could the man be so uncaring toward the welfare of one whom he was courting? Not that he had done anything to harm Raven, of course—Raven was not here to be harmed—but that was the very problem. Raven was sick at home, and Mr. Azazel had not appeared to care at all.

“What a lovely party,” Charles said, and, making one last effort to let Mr. Azazel return to normal, added, “It is such a shame Miss Darkholme could not attend.”

“I would have been sorry if she had,” Mr. Azazel said. “Doubtless she would have ridden next to you, Mr. Xavier, and then we could not have had this time alone.

Charles stared in utter horror at this singular pronouncement. Mr. Azazel, perhaps mistaking his silence for some more pleasant form of surprise, took the liberty—Charles could not  _believe_ he took the liberty—of leaving his seat to settle himself next to Charles on the other side of the carriage.

"Mr. Xavier, what I have to say cannot come as a surprise to you—”

“On the contrary, sir, I am quite surprised that you should have anything particular to say to me.”

Mr. Azazel blinked. “You are… very modest, to be sure, Mr. Xavier, but I’m sure my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken.”

“Yes, indeed, your attentions to Miss Darkholme have been very clear in their intention.”

“Miss… Darkholme?” He seemed utterly taken aback, and Charles felt his stomach dropping like a stone. “Miss Darkholme is… a very good sort of girl, I suppose. But I could never have considered her for a spouse—surely you do not think I was considering  _Miss Darkholme?”_

“And why not? She is pretty, she is amiable, she is clever—”

“Our definitions of amiable must differ,” Mr. Azazel grumbled, “but that is beside the point. I could never take either wife or husband whose respectability was so—” Charles did not know what expression his face held, but whatever it was seemed to rattle Mr. Azazel. “I mean only that you, Mr. Xavier, have infinitely more to offer in every imaginable way!”

“I know precisely what you mean,” Charles said stiffly. “That you could never consider marriage to one who was poor, and whose family origin, while actually quite unknown and thus as likely to be high as low, is beneath your standards.”

“Why are we even discussing Miss Darkholme!” Mr. Azazel burst out. “I bear the girl no ill will, but she was never the object of my pursuit.”

“How not, when you doted on her portrait—”

“To praise your artistry!”

“—when you visited her so frequently—”

“She could hardly be avoided at your estate.”

“—when you delivered a love letter into her very hand!”

“And instructed that she give it to  _you!”_  Mr. Azazel seemed on the verge of tearing at his hair. “Surely you cannot have mistaken my frequent compliments and admiration toward you—to be frank I sometimes thought myself unseemly in my directness!”

“I often thought you unseemly,” Charles snapped, “but was willing to forgive it, if you could make my friend happy.”

“But you were always so pleased to see me!”

“I was pleased,” Charles had to swallow past the growing lump in his throat, “to see my friend’s suitor, because I thought it so happy a match.”

“Happy indeed, with  _Miss Darkholme_ ,” Mr. Azazel muttered.

“I never had the slightest interest in you for my own sake. Allow me to be perfectly clear on that. Your attentions toward myself, and your offer for my hand, are utterly unwelcome. To paraphrase your own words, Mr. Azazel, I bear you no ill will, but you were never an object of my pursuit.”

Looking almost dazed, as if he could not have imagined his evening ending in such a fashion, Mr. Azazel moved quietly back to his own seat. They sat in deep and painful silence, each gazing out opposite windows at the falling snow. Charles huddled deeper into his wrap, and tried desperately not to let the tears burning in his eyes find further release.

How was he going to tell Raven?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles attends a gathering at the home of Dr. Banner and his wife.

Charles was in conversation with his dear friend, Miss MacTaggert, when Anthony Stark arrived at the Banner household, having newly returned from his excursion into town.

‘There you are, Tony,’ Dr. Banner greeted him when he arrived. ‘I was worried that we would miss you entirely. Come, come inside. Mr. Xavier has been asking after you.’

‘Did you miss me, Mr. Xavier?’ Tony murmured teasingly as the alpha clasped Charles firmly by the hand.

‘Not even a little!’ Charles laughed, dropping his hand as soon as it was released. ‘I merely made the proper enquiries about the nature of your excursion to Dr. Banner, who, as your closest friend, would have knowledge of your whereabouts. In truth, I do not care a fiddle about your activities, I assure you.’

‘Truthfully?’ Tony’s eyes sparkled. ‘Have you really so little curiosity about my adventures, Mr. Xavier?’

‘I would rather have Miss Carter ask me a hundred dull questions than know of your adventures,’ Charles scoffed. 

Tony laughed. ‘That can be arranged,’ he said, raising his eyebrows at Charles, before looking around at the crowded room. ‘Where is dear Miss Carter anyhow? She was invited, was she not?’

‘She was,’ Charles assured him. ‘Fear not on that account. She is here – and Mr. Rogers too, her ward.’ He discreetly pointed to where the two sat close together. ‘They have hardly stirred from their seats since they arrived.’

Tony studied them closely. ‘Rather a pale looking creature, isn’t he?’ he said, not for the first time while regarding Mr. Rogers. ‘His skin is unnaturally sallow for an omega – not at all like _yours_ , Mr. Xavier. And he is far too earnest, for my liking … he has no taste at all for any kind of humour, I’ll warrant. It comes from spending too much time with old ladies, and not enough with pleasant young gentlemen such as ourselves.’

‘He is a very kind young man,’ Charles said with mild reproach, for some reason finding it necessary to defend poor Mr. Rogers. ‘And it is a mark of his good heart that he stays with Miss Carter. Heaven knows that I would not have the patience or the temperament for it.’

Tony turned an affectionate look on him. ‘Yours is the only good heart in evidence here,’ he said gallantly, before turning back to Miss Carter and Mr. Rogers. ‘In him I only see an unfortunate surplus of dullness, I fear.’ His eyes suddenly sparkled and he turned to Charles again, his expression one of mischief. ‘Shall I change that for them, Mr. Xavier? Shall I roust them both into excitement?’

‘Oh, you mustn’t tease them,’ Charles protested, even as a smile pulled at his lips.

‘Never fear!’ Tony laughed. ‘I mean them no harm.’ He then leaned in close. ‘You shall enjoy this, Mr. Xavier,’ he said in a low, intimate voice. ‘Now see the fun I shall create with only a few simple words.’

‘What do you mean to do?’ Charles asked warily, but Tony was already striding towards the corner where Steve and the elderly Miss Carter sat together, his stride quick yet unhurried.

‘My dear Miss Carter,’ he said, raising his voice so that he was heard above the conversation occurring around them. ‘I must congratulate on your extravagant new purchase. I saw it being taken to your house and I must say, I was most pleased on your behalf.’

Miss Carter peered at him, looking surprised to be addressed in such a manner. ‘Purchase?’ she said slowly, her already wrinkled brow creased as if in great effort. ‘I made no purchase, young man.’

‘It is Mr. Stark, Aunt Peggy,’ Steve said quietly, leaning in close to murmur in her ear. ‘Anthony Stark, you remember.’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Miss Carter nodded and turned to face Tony with a smile that seemed to be oddly relieved. ‘How pleasant it is to see you again … Mr. Stark.’

‘I was just congratulating you on your new acquisition, Miss Carter,’ Tony said patiently, smiling genially at her even as he threw Charles a subtle, pointed look. ‘It is a splendid purchase, if I may say so.’

Miss Carter’s frown deepened and she turned her wrinkled face anxiously towards her ward. ‘Steve, I – I didn’t make any purchases, did I? I’m afraid that I … I don’t recall.’ She looked down unhappily. ‘Oh dear.’

‘No, Aunt Peggy,’ Steve reassured her, reaching out to take her arm gently. He turned a look containing a surprising amount of annoyance on Tony. ‘We have made no recent purchases for the house.’

‘No?’ Tony’s expression was the very definition of surprised. ‘Well, then I do apologise my friends. It is merely that the men I encountered today assured me most strenuously that the item in their cart was destined to be delivered to Miss Carter’s address. “Miss Carter?” I exclaimed – I assure you, I was most surprised by this development myself, as – you will forgive me for saying so, my dear lady – it seemed to me to be most out of character. But then the foreman himself showed me the address he was directed to deposit his cartload at, and sure enough – it was your very address!’

‘My address?’ Miss Carter repeated, surprised.

‘Yes!’

‘What was at my address?’

Charles could see Tony internally groan. ‘Your _new purchase_ , Miss Carter. The one that I have been telling you about.’

‘Oh yes,’ Miss Carter nodded quickly. ‘I – I recall.’ She then turned to Steve. ‘We – we didn’t make any new purchase, did we, dearest?’

‘No, Aunt Peggy,’ Steve said quietly. His patience, Charles felt privately, was less that of a good omega, and more like that of a saint. ‘We did not.’ He turned to look at Tony, a frown of suspicion marring the smoothness of his face. ‘What was this item that they were bringing to us, Mr. Stark?’ he asked, unable to hide a hint of coldness in his voice.

Charles bit his lip as Tony feigned an air of thoughtfulness. ‘I cannot be sure,’ he said slowly, speaking at last. ‘But from the general size, and the shape, and the _look_ … well, I would say that in my poor estimation, the item in question was a _pianoforte_.’

That caused a flurry of murmurs to arise from the crowd around them, and Tony glanced casually over at Charles with a look of triumph.

‘A pianoforte?’ Steve for some reason looked aghast at this news. ‘But what on earth—’

‘I used to play the pianoforte as a child,’ Miss Carter said dreamily. Charles was hard pressed not to roll his eyes. Miss Carter had a very tiresome habit of ruining interesting conversations by allowing her thoughts to wander away from her. Luckily, Steve was not so easily distracted.

‘Why,’ he said sharply. ‘Would anyone send me a pianoforte?’ 

Before Tony could respond that no one had said that it was for _him_ , Miss Carter sat up again. ‘Someone sent you a pianoforte?’ she asked, looking amazed. After a moment she smiled and clutched his arm affectionately. ‘Oh, Steve, someone must have heard you play – you really do play _so_ beautifully!’ She stopped then, and blinked slowly. ‘But – but who would have done such a thing?’ She peered around at the inhabitants of the room, as if she hoped to find the answer among them.

‘It is a mystery!’ Tony declared gleefully.

‘There was no message that came with the pianoforte?’ Dr. Banner asked in surprise, from where he was stood beside Miss Carter.

‘Not a word!’ Tony said with relish, causing the murmurs from the crowd to commence anew.

‘Word? From whom?’ Miss Carter turned anxiously to face Steve. ‘Are we expecting word from someone, dearest?’

‘Yes, Mr. Rogers,’ Tony spoke up, sounding gleeful. ‘Are you expecting something from someone?’ His eyes sparkled with mischief.

Steve’s jaw had tensed slightly, and Charles could see that Mr. Rogers was experiencing some strain. He immediately felt sorry for him, and wished that Tony had not brought this matter up – and then doggedly pursued it – in quite so public a manner.

Tony, unfortunately, was not a man to be put off. ‘Could you have not sense of who the pianoforte might be from, Mr. Rogers?’ he asked innocently.

There was a flash of irritation in Steve’s eyes that was quickly subdued. He thought for a moment, aware of the attention on him, before he finally spoke. ‘It might – it might be my friend Sergeant Barnes,’ he said haltingly. ‘James,’ he explained to Miss Carter when she looked confused. ‘We grew up together, he and I. He was always very kind to me … very kind, and very thoughtful.’

Tony glanced Charles’s way at that, as if to check that he were paying attention. Upon meeting his eyes, he raised his eyebrows, his eyes gleaming wickedly, and Charles, for all his reservations, was hard pressed to not to laugh at the delight he was taking in his jape.

‘You were close then, you and Sergeant Barnes,’ Tony said loudly, affecting a tone of kindliness.

Steve shifted, looking distinctly uncomfortable. ‘We were very good friends,’ he said carefully. ‘But in truth, I have not seen him for a twelvemonth, so I cannot imagine why he would think to send me such a gift now.’

‘Can you not?’ Tony murmured, causing a flush of red to cross Steve’s face.

Charles decided then that it was time to intervene. He stepped forward and grasped Tony lightly by the arm. ‘Now, now,’ he said with gentle amusement. ‘You mustn’t get carried away, Mr. Stark.’ He turned to Steve and smiled kindly. ‘It is a generous gift, Mr. Rogers, and a worthy one. You must let me hear you play, some time.’

‘I would be delighted,’ Steve bowed his head, looking slightly shy and awkward as he always did when in Charles’s presence. Charles had thought it odd at first, especially since such reservations were usually quickly dispensed with between omegas, but he had soon grown used to Steve’s demure nature. 

Miss Carter appeared to notice him for the first time then, for her face brightened when she saw him. ‘Why, is that Mr. Xavier?’ she asked, smiling widely at him. ‘My, how you have grown!’

As Charles had seen her merely the week before, he could not say that he had grown very much in the mean time. Seeing Steve look uncomfortable, however, he merely smiled. ‘My hair has grown excessively long this summer,’ he admitted, nodding in acknowledgement. ‘Perhaps it is time to get it attended to. It was good of you to notice, Miss Carter.’

‘Such a sweet boy, you were,’ Miss Carter was reminiscing now, seeming not to have heard him. ‘It was always so lovely to have you come by the cottage. Your visits always brightened my spirits.’ She turned to her nephew. ‘Have you met Mr. Xavier, Steve?’ she asked suddenly, appearing to forget that they had indeed met before – and in her presence too.

‘Yes, Aunt Peggy,’ Steve said dutifully, avoiding Charles’s eyes. ‘Several times.’

‘We must ask him to come by the cottage,’ Miss Carter said, even as her eyes began to drift away from the two of them. ‘Such … such a sweet boy, he was.’

Charles quickly decided that it was time that he made his escape. ‘Then I shall endeavour to visit you soon,’ he said gallantly, dipping his head to her in a bow. He then turned to Tony. ‘Come, Mr. Stark,’ he said, sliding his arm into his and hurriedly pulling him away. ‘You promised to regale me with tales of your excursion into town.’

‘I did indeed!’ Tony declared, and then courteously led the two of them away from the corner. Charles, strangely, had the odd feeling that a pair of eyes followed them all the way through the crowds. He was distracted, however, by Tony leaning in intimately towards him.

‘So what did you think of my news?’ he asked, his eyebrows rising wickedly.

Charles was forced to laugh. ‘Mr. Stark, you are awful,’ he said, although perhaps not so reproachfully as his words ought to have been. ‘Poor Mr. Rogers was quite distressed. And Miss Carter! She will likely forget all about the matter and then promptly die of shock the moment she returns home to find a pianoforte there!’

Though, as Charles listened, he realised that it might be difficult for even Miss Carter to forget the mystery of the pianoforte, since it appeared the every person in the hall was now discussing the matter. He could even now hear the sound of Mr. Wilson’s voice, telling a too-interested couple that Sergeant Barnes was a true gentleman, and that he and his wife, Lady Natasha, were indeed very good friends to Mr. Rogers and Miss Carter.

‘A dose of excitement will do them all good,’ Tony said flippantly, looking thoroughly unconcerned by the fervour he had stirred. ‘And perhaps it will finally give Mr. Rogers some colour in those pale cheeks of his!’

‘How you do rail on about his pallor!’ Charles laughed. ‘You seem to detest such colouring very much, Mr. Stark!’

‘Not at all!’ Tony said smoothly. ‘I only think that it suits some much better than others.’ His eyes lingered on Charles’s skin.

Charles laughed and then changed the subject. ‘Do you really think that Sergeant Barnes and his wife sent the pianoforte?’ he asked, musing aloud.

‘No indeed!’ Charles turned to Tony in surprise. ‘I do not think his wife had anything to do with it at all!’

Charles stared at him. ‘What a thing to say!’ he exclaimed.

Tony raised an eyebrow. ‘You think me wicked?’ he asked, sounding amused. ‘Perhaps you do, but then you do not know what I know.’

‘What is it?’ Charles asked eagerly, curious despite himself. ‘What is it that you know?’

‘Only what I have heard,’ Tony said smugly. ‘Rumours and such. But I am sure that you, my dear Mr. Xavier, can have no interest in such tawdry matters.’

‘Oh you do tease,’ Charles said exasperatedly. ‘Tell me or no – I shall not ask twice!’

‘Very well,’ Tony sighed, though he looked very pleased with himself. ‘I will tell you. I have it on good authority that Sergeant Barnes and Lady Natasha are at odds – that their home life is disagreeable and that indeed, that there is little love lost between them.’

Charles frowned. ‘Is that so?’ he asked, troubled. ‘That is most unfortunate – if it is true. I do not give my ear to such gossip normally … But tell me, how does this relate to Mr. Rogers’s new pianoforte?’

‘Who do you think was the cause of the marital discord?’ Tony asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Charles stared at him in shock. ‘Mr. Rogers?’ He turned around, seeking out Steve’s face in the crowd. He studied him for a moment before firmly shaking his head. ‘I do not believe it.’

Tony looked slightly disappointed by that. ‘No?’ he asked.

‘Why, it is completely out of character,’ Charles said, looking decisive. ‘You may refuse to see it, but Mr. Rogers is an honourable man. He would not stand for such a thing. Besides,’ he added. ‘By his own admission, he has not seen his friend for well over a year.’

‘Perhaps this is the reason why!’

Charles laughed. ‘I fear the more that you try to persuade me of this rumour, the more I feel the need to reject it. Leave poor Mr. Rogers and his friends alone – I am sure that there is nothing but perfect accord between the three of them.’

‘Then if you give no credence to my idea about our mysterious patron, then what, pray tell, are your thoughts on the matter, Mr. Xavier?’

‘I do not know,’ Charles said honestly. ‘Perhaps it is indeed Sergeant Barnes – he _and_ his wife. Otherwise …’ he shook his head. ‘Otherwise I cannot guess. All I know is that the person would have to be very well to do, in order to bestow such a gift.’

‘True enough,’ Tony agreed pleasantly, before bowing low to Charles. ‘Well then, Mr. Xavier, if you will not accept my theories as the gospel, then I should find some other more credulous person to indulge me.’ He smiled at Charles, his eyes twinkling, before he wandered away in search of other friends.

Feeling slightly bereft, Charles turned to the rest of his acquaintances, eager to know what other news there was from his friends. 

It seemed, however, that the party could talk of nothing else but the pianoforte, and of who the sender might have been.

‘Who do you think it was?’ Miss MacTaggert – Mrs. Banner, in truth, but she would always be Miss MacTaggert to him – wondered as she looped her arm in his. ‘Mr. Rogers seems certain that it was Sergeant Barnes, but I am not so certain. Who would make such a gift after being parted for a twelvemonth?’

‘You have an idea of who it might be, then?’ Charles asked, arching an eyebrow.

‘Indeed!’ Moira quickly glanced around her before leaning in close to whisper in his ear. ‘I think it must be your own dear friend, Mr. Lehnsherr!’ she whispered to him.

Charles felt an immediate, odd surge of annoyance at that. ‘Don’t be absurd!’ he said crisply. ‘Why, this is not Erik’s way at all. As if he would do such a thing! Why, you do not know him at all, Moira!’

Moira looked at him for a moment, before raising her shoulders in a delicate shrug. ‘As you say,’ she murmured. ‘It was only an idea.’ She then moved off to join the others.

Charles sighed. Perhaps he ought not to have been so vehement in his rejection. It was merely that he was now tired of the whole silly business and wished to be done with it.

That was not to be, however, for barely a moment had passed since Miss MacTaggert had left his side before he was accosted again. This time, however, it was by Mr. Lehnsherr himself.

‘It seems we have had our evening’s entertainment,’ Erik murmured as he came to stop by his side. He glanced at Charles. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘what do you make of this business with Mr. Rogers, Charles?’

‘Oh do not tell that that you are also caught up in this excitement over that wretched pianoforte!’ Charles exclaimed in dismay. ‘I have heard nothing else all evening!’

‘No?’ Erik raised his eyebrow. ‘Then blame your friend Mr. Stark for that. It was he, after all, who decided to cause such a sensation amongst our neighbours.’

Charles sighed. ‘He delights in such things,’ he said, shaking his head, even as Erik frowned in disapproval. ‘And indeed, it was amusing enough at first, but now I am weary of all talk of estranged sergeants and pianofortes. What is more,’ he added at Erik’s look of amusement. ‘I warrant that Mr. Rogers shares my exhaustion. He did not seem to enjoy being the subject of such talk, to my eyes.’

‘You judge it so?’ Erik looked thoughtful. ‘I am not surprised. I fear the same.’ He then shook his head, disapproval heavy on his brow. ‘Your friend Mr. Stark should not have announced it in such a way. A gift like that is worthy of talk even without the added sensationalism of his announcement tonight. I fear that Mr. Rogers will not appreciate the scrutiny he has brought … He is a man of reserve, is Mr. Rogers, and I doubt that he will appreciate being the subject of country gossip.’

Charles glanced sharply at Erik, hearing the quiet regard in his voice. He remembered then what Miss MacTaggert had confided to him and he suddenly felt ill at ease.

‘Tell me,’ he said, forcing himself to speak. ‘What are _your_ thoughts on the matter, Erik? What do _you_ think of Mr. Rogers’s new pianoforte?’

‘I think very little of it!’

‘Indeed?’ Charles could not help his feeling of relief at hearing this. ‘Why do you say so?’

‘It is an ill-conceived gift,’ Erik said grimly, shaking his head. ‘More thoughtless than thoughtful. What are Mr. Rogers and Miss Carter to do with a pianoforte? And more importantly, where will they keep it? It will cause more trouble than pleasure, I fear, and it is trouble that the two hardly need.’ He shook his head again, his jaw tight. ‘The gift may be rich, but the logic of it is poor. The matter was not thought through in the least.’

‘Oh, I knew it couldn’t have been you!’ Charles burst out, relief entering his voice despite his best efforts. At Erik’s raised eyebrow, he explained, ‘Moira was saying that she suspected you of such a gift. I could not believe it of you, and I told her as much. You are not so furiously romantic as that.’

‘You do not think me romantic?’ Erik said coolly.

‘Oh, perhaps that was the wrong word,’ Charles said, shaking his head. ‘Rather – say _frivolous_. Yes – I do not think you so careless or frivolous in your actions. You are a man of deep thought, Erik, and it is against your character to take up such an unwieldy and expensive gift for so slight a reason as compassion.’

‘I see,’ Erik said. After a pause he continued, ‘You are right, of course. Such a gift … it is a young man’s gift. Extravagant and rash, and more trouble than it is worth.’

‘You are not so old,’ Charles said at once.

Erik smiled at that. ‘I am old enough,’ he replied. He glanced at Charles. ‘I am older than _you_.’

Charles immediately waved him off. ‘Our difference in age is not so great,’ he declared. ‘And certainly, not great enough for our friendship to appear extraordinary. You are not exactly of an age to be my father, Erik.’ Erik smiled at that. ‘Rather … a brother perhaps. A stricter older brother.’

‘I see.’ Erik stood silently by his side for a moment. Then, ‘I think I see Mr. Summers beckoning. I shall go to his side. Charles,’ he nodded in farewell and then wandered off.

Charles, who was no stranger to Erik’s abrupt departures, merely shook his head and turned away, and quickly took up conversation with Mr. Barton, a country squire with a keen interest in falconry.

Sadly, no one talked about anything else but the pianoforte for the rest of the evening. Charles suffered through the night and then made his apologies and excused himself as soon as was possible, before heading home and going straight to bed, sick to death of hearing anything further to do with Mr. Rogers, Miss Carter and, above all, with that wretched, wretched pianoforte.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles is left to deal with the repurcussions of Mr Azazel's attentions, and there is a ball.

It had been several days since the news had arrived in town that Mr. Azazel had got married to the rich and beautiful heiress formerly known as Miss Emma Frost, and Charles was feeling miserable. He did not care a fig for the news in itself – he had no interest whatsoever in Mr. Azazel or his bride, no matter how rich or pretty of face she might have been. What he did care about was Raven; dearest Raven, whose face had grown ashen upon hearing the news, tears filling up in her eyes, though she was proud enough not to shed them whilst in company. She had quickly made her excuses and all but fled from where they had been gathered at the informal party at Dr. Banner’s, while Charles looked on in helpless dismay.

He had spent the rest of the afternoon in agony, forbidden from leaving Mrs. Banner’s side until the party came to a close. The moment he was freed from his duties to his friend, Charles hurried away, determined to seek Raven out and give her as much comfort as he was capable of – and, if he felt brave enough – to reveal the truth of Mr. Azazel’s behaviour towards them both.

The meeting had, unsurprisingly, been nothing short of a disaster. Raven, already disconsolate, had not wanted to talk to him. After she heard what he had to say, she wanted to speak to him even less. So much so, that Charles had not heard a single word from her since that very day.

Charles sighed, gazing out of the window of Graymalkin House forlornly. He missed Raven. Usually on bright sunny days such as these the two of them would go on walks or outings together, strolling arm in arm without a care in the world. Now, Charles had no idea if they would ever do so again. He was anxious to see her – to talk to her, to even _plead_ with her, his pride be damned – and although he knew that it was best to allow his friend to come to him instead of forcing a reunion, Charles was nevertheless struggling to find the patience to keep away.

‘Give her time,’ had been Moira’s advice to him when he had come to her with wringing hands the day after Raven tearfully declared that she wished Charles had never condescended to acquaint himself with her.

‘Leave her be, Charles,’ Erik advised when he found Charles standing morosely by the window as if waiting for Raven to arrive. ‘It is her pride that has been hurt, nothing more.’

But Charles knew the truth of it: Raven was grieving, and the injury ran deep. Not only had the object of her hopes and desires married another – and, by all accounts, a woman who hopelessly outclassed Raven in terms of wealth and respectability – but Raven now also knew the truth behind Mr. Azazel’s earlier behaviour towards her. Charles had at last, in a fit of desperation to make her see Mr. Azazel for the cad he was, finally revealed to his friend the reality of the situation, and poor Raven had thus found out that not only was she not Mr. Azazel’s first choice, but that she hadn’t even been a close second. 

The revelation that Mr. Azazel had never desired her had been bad enough; but to realise that he had in addition originally expressed an interest in some other person – and for that person to have been Charles himself! Charles, who had foolishly and blindly tried to match her with Azazel, not once realising that the alpha had his eyes on a prize of far more material gain than that which poor penniless Raven could provide. It had been too much for her; Raven had turned from him, declaring that she never wanted to see him again, and had then fled the room, leaving Charles to see himself out, alone in his misery.

Charles had, since then, privately resolved to never be happy again until he and Raven were friends again, and indeed, he stuck firmly to this sacred vow for at least two days after that. His pious resolve was soon broken, however, by the announcement of a ball to be held by Mr. Barton on the following week. Charles, who had never been someone prone to favouring frowns over smiles, felt his spirits lift despite himself.

Erik, who had been with him at the time, looked at him approvingly. ‘It has been some time since I have seen you smile,’ he mused, watching Charles appraisingly. ‘Perhaps I ought not to find the prospect of balls so tiresome, if they are capable of raising your spirits in a way that I have been unable to.’

His words made Charles smile once again and, seemingly in an effort to keep Charles’s spirits raised, Erik had proceeded to keep him company for the rest of the week, dining with him and taking him for walks, and trying his utmost to keep Charles’s mind off Raven and the disaster of his failed matchmaking.

By the time Mr. Barton’s ball arrived, Charles was beginning to feel almost optimistic. Dr. and Mrs. Banner were present, as were his other friends, and Erik was at his side. Charles had even accepted a dance or two, although initially reluctant, and by the time he stepped off the dance floor, he was feeling much like his former self. 

It was during this lull in the party, in which Charles was watching the dancing from the edge of the floor, that Erik stepped in next to him, his expression solemn. ‘Not that I wish to diminish your spirits,’ he said quietly, leaning down so that only Charles could hear him. ‘But you ought to know – Raven is here.’

Charles’s head immediately jerked up and, after a few moments of eager searching, he spotted her. He immediately made to move forward, but Erik grasped him by the arm. ‘Let her be,’ he said gently, holding Charles’s arm lightly yet firmly. ‘Allow her to come to you.’

‘But—’ Charles began to protest, but Erik shook his head. 

‘She knows you are here,’ he said, and Charles glanced up to see Raven quickly look away, her mouth tight. ‘Let her be, Charles. She’s not ready to talk to you yet. Her pride is still hurt.’

Charles turned away, unhappy but unable to fault Erik’s words. At the same time, however, he knew that it was not that simple. If it had merely been a case of pride then Charles would have made up with Raven long ago. But he was not so obtuse as to think that it was simply a case of injured pride in this instance; Raven cared for Mr. Azazel, no matter how little the wretch deserved it, and his rejection of her – complete and dismissive as it had been, for all that it had been unvoiced – had not only humiliated her but had hurt her normally tender heart.

While Mr. Azazel’s conduct towards Raven had indeed been lamentable, Charles could not help but claim the lion’s share of the blame for what had occurred. He knew full well that Raven would not have so much as cast her eyes upon Mr. Azazel had Charles not directed her gaze that way, and it shamed him dearly to think that he had been the one to urge the attachment.

‘I was a fool to have pushed her towards Mr. Azazel,’ he told Erik bitterly, clenching his teeth and forcing himself to turn away from Raven. ‘A naïve, interfering fool. And now I have ruined everything between us.’ He shook his head, overcome by his own rashness, and lowered his eyes. ‘I now understand fully why you tried to warn me away from such endeavours, Erik. Feel free to chastise me in any way you wish – I know full well that I deserve it all.’

There was a pause. 

Erik’s response, when it eventually came, was oddly gentle. ‘Naïve you may have been,’ he said kindly. ‘And rash, certainly. But no one can say that you did not act out of affection and a generous spirit. You have always thought people better than they are, Charles – something that I have forever been grateful for, as if it were otherwise then you would not have befriended me, and I should have been the worse for it. You did not see what I saw in Mr. Azazel – the scheming, the ambition, the selfishness. Nor did you ever once believe yourself to be the object of his desire. No,’ Erik shook his head. ‘You are far too modest for that, to recognise when you are desired and preferred above all others.’

Charles merely sighed and shook his head. ‘You are being kind,’ he said sadly, turning away. ‘But I do not deserve your charity. We both of us know what a terrible fool I have been. And now Raven suffers for it.’

He turned to look at her, mournful, and then gave a start. Standing but a few paces away from Raven was none other than Mr. Azazel – and beside him, his new bride, Miss Emma Frost, standing radiant in white, her nose upturned as she looked down on the happy crowds that surrounded her; it appeared that they had made their entrance while Charles was caught up in his shame and self-pity. And Raven – Raven stood to the side, her face white and her jaw clenched in muted suffering, and Charles couldn’t stand the sight of it.

‘Stay,’ Erik murmured before Charles could make a move towards her. ‘Let me go to her.’

‘Yes,’ Charles said, relieved at this alternative as he abruptly recalled that his presence might make the situation worse. ‘You go to her, Erik. You – you could comfort her better than I at this time.’

And so he watched, tense, as Erik strode across the ballroom, his tall, elegant figure cutting a natural swathe through the room. He let out a breath as Erik reached Raven’s side, and he felt his heart swell when he saw her look up with a hopeful smile at Erik’s murmured regards. He was just on the point of relaxing fully, when Mr. Azazel suddenly caught sight of Erik.

‘Mr. Lehnsherr!’ he exclaimed, and to Charles’s horror he saw Mr. Azazel step away from his wife and move towards Erik – and consequently, Raven. ‘I did not see you there.’

‘Mr. Azazel.’ Erik bowed stiffly. ‘I arrived early, as is my habit.’ He then deliberately gestured to Raven. ‘You know Miss Darkholme, I’m sure?’

Azazel blinked. His eyes darted towards Raven and then quickly flitted away, dismissively. ‘Oh yes, quite,’ he said vaguely, and Charles was filled with dismay at the way in which he did not so much as nod at her in polite greeting. 

Erik’s jaw tensed. ‘Well, if you would excuse me,’ he began coldly, but Mr. Azazel seized his arm. 

‘You must allow me to introduce you to my wife,’ he said loudly, at which the delicate blonde head of Mrs. Azazel turned their way and, before Erik could move away from poor Raven, she had arrived at their side, looking coolly from one face to another.

Charles watched in agony as the introductions were made – and, in Raven’s case, overlooked – at least until Erik, his teeth gritted, made the introductions for her. Poor Raven looked almost ill at this point, no doubt wishing that she was anywhere else in the world, and Charles hated himself all the more for what he had made her go through.

The agony didn’t stop there. Charles watched as Mrs. Azazel, seeming to fix on Erik as one of the few people in the room whom she deemed an acceptable enough companion, glued herself to his side, conversing with him in a hatefully low and intimate way that excluded all others from the conversation. Charles saw how, almost against himself, Erik was drawn away from poor Raven, leaving her to stand stiffly next to Mr. Azazel, who stood proudly looking on. Charles was well aware of Erik’s general indifference towards Mr. Azazel, despite the latter’s desire to increase their intimacy. It appeared that the man now thought that, by marrying an heiress such as Emma Frost, he was at last able to be looked on as Erik’s equal.

Charles felt a surge of anger within him at the very thought. As if Mr. Azazel could _ever_ compare to Mr. Lehnsherr, in any regard!

Still seething, he turned his attention back to Raven. He was slightly relieved to see that Mr. Barton had approached them and was making conversation with them both. As Charles drifted closer, however, he was slightly alarmed to hear the subject of Mr. Barton’s words.

‘There seem to be a fair number of couples enjoying the dancing, do you not think so, Mr. Azazel?’ Mr. Barton was saying genially, regarding the happy couples with a pleased air.

‘It is a fine number,’ Mr. Azazel agreed readily.

‘You yourself enjoy dancing, do you not?’

‘Oh most assuredly,’ Mr. Azazel said, smiling proudly. ‘I have been told I am a fair dancer by many a partner.’

‘And you, Miss Darkholme?’ Mr. Barton asked kindly yet pointedly. ‘Do you enjoy dancing?’

‘Oh,’ Raven looked startled. ‘I do. On occasion.’ She bit her lip and fell silent.

Nobody spoke. Mr. Barton glanced at Mr. Azazel in surprise; the suggestion, though implicit, had been clear. The gentlemanly thing would have been for Azazel to have asked Miss Darkholme to dance. 

Frowning, Mr. Barton tried again. ‘I myself have become unfortunately footsore,’ he said, smiling apologetically. ‘Perhaps you, sir, might do me the favour of asking the lady to dance?’

‘I will happily ask Mrs. Barton to turn a reel with me,’ Mr. Azazel said pleasantly, wilfully misunderstanding the request.

Mr. Barton’s frown deepened. ‘Not my wife, sir,’ he said, a touch more coldly. ‘There is a very pretty young lady in our very presence whom you might ask to dance.’

Mr. Azazel’s expression did not change. He glanced once to his left and then to his right, towards Raven, before turning back to Mr. Barton. ‘Oh?’ he asked coolly. ‘I see no such creature,’ and he immediately turned on his heel and moved away, leaving Mr. Barton staring after him in shock, and Raven standing alone in abject humiliation, her face almost deathly white.

Charles could not hold back his fury. He cared no longer for any words of restraint, or of how he must look to others. He surged forward, determined to do he did not know what – draw Raven into his arms, or accost Mr. Azazel, or both, perhaps – but before he could, a movement ahead of him stopped him in his tracks.

Erik and Mrs. Azazel had not moved very far away, it appeared, and it seemed that he had heard every word spoken by Mr. Azazel, just as Charles had. The moment Mr. Azazel had finished speaking, Erik had straightened up, cut off Mrs. Azazel’s words with a brief nod and murmured excuse, and had spun on his heel and marched straight over where Raven was standing, alone in her misery. The sight of him, striding forth with burning, righteous fury, made Charles’s insides clench with some odd emotion. As he watched, Erik came to a stop in front of Raven and, offering her a stiff bow, he reached out a hand towards her.

‘You look radiant tonight, Miss Darkholme,’ he said softly, meeting her eyes and causing her to look up in a mixture of hope and anxiety. ‘I would be honoured if you would accompany me for the next dance.’

‘Oh.’ Raven’s whole face flushed bright red. ‘I – I should be delighted,’ she said, sounding strangely shy, and Charles watched, his throat tight, as she took Erik’s hand and he – the man who had a reputation for staunchly refusing to dance a single dance at any ball – led her, carefully, reverently, onto the ballroom floor, even Mr. and Mrs. Azazel watched them both with narrowed eyes. 

Charles slowly stepped back into the crowd, closing his eyes in relief. He became suddenly aware of his heart beating fast, and he was surprised to see that his hands had been clenched for several minutes. He sighed, allowing his shoulders to relax and his nerves to settle. Raven would be fine, he told himself. Erik had rescued her from that awful situation, as gallantly as could be imagined. Everything would be fine. 

As he watched the pair move gracefully over the ballroom floor, Charles quietly resolved to keep an eye on them both, to ensure that nothing else spoilt the night for Raven or her saviour. His eyes would not leave them for a minute, he promised himself, his eyes following them as they moved smilingly alongside the other couples. And, well, if that meant treading on a few toes and not paying his dancing partners his full, undivided attention for the rest of the evening, then that was a price that Charles, ever the martyr, was fully willing to pay.


End file.
